


Thy Warmth Unto Me

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: Percival wants snuggles, but what does it take for him to admit that? Not as dramatic as the title sounds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kallistob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/gifts).



You know, there was a time when Percival Graves actually tolerated birthday celebrations for him. Of course, as a child he was appropriately excited when his parents threw lavish birthday parties for him, whereupon he was gifted with wonderful gifts from the various uncles and aunts who either worked as ambassadors to this exotic country, or was an official in this government. As a growing adult, he still enjoyed celebrating his birthday with friends, having the customary celebratory drink when he reached the age of 21, or when he exchanged sloppy, drunk kisses with a lass or lad, or both. But at the age of 43, Percival Graves was absolutely fed up at the notion of growing yet another year older, and right now, sitting grumpily in a corner whilst everyone gathered to celebrate _his_ birthday, he just wanted to go home, wrap himself in layers of blankets, and snuggle that lovely, thick bolster he has. Of course, it would be ideal if he had an actual person (or persons, Percival isn’t picky) to cuddle with, but alas, the bolster would have to suffice. Which was quite pathetic really. Percival didn’t think he was that sad, and lonely, was he?

Anyway. The party. His people insisted on throwing a party to mark his 43rd birthday, and Percival, freshly recovered from his ordeal with Grindelwald, hadn’t the energy to say no to the pleading faces of his subordinates. Fucking Goldstein, had to rope in her sister with her large doe eyes and motherly smile. One glance at him had her going “ _Oh honey”_ and hugging him gently, and just as he was feeling less grumpy, she dealt the death blow by batting her long eyelashes and kissing him on the cheek, saying “Everyone would be _oh so_ _happy_ if you’d agree to the party Mr Graves. You wouldn’t want them to be disappointed, would you?” Cue puppy dog eyes from every fucking person in the room, even fucking Abernathy (Percival made a note to tell the man to stop. Just stop. It wasn’t ever going to work). And Percival, made soft from all the torture he’s endured at Grindelwald’s pasty hands and all the lying about he’s done during recovery, caved because he knew how worried his people were after they realised he was gone. And honestly, he just wanted one good thing to happen to him after a string of shitty events. What could go wrong?

A lot, apparently. For one, the idiot who chose the songs would be fired. One song in particularly was playing in a loop, something about chipmunks. Who the fuck would write a song about chipmunks? And yet, everyone was dancing to the strange, out of sorts beat, so either everyone was deaf, or Percival had a terrible appreciation for music. He doubted that it was the latter. Secondly, Percival learned that some of his Aurors were absolutely hilarious when drunk. Tina was sitting next to her sister, sobbing loudly and wailing about something incoherent, whilst Queenie did her best to comfort her. Abernathy was doing this…weird wiggle on the dance floor and the secretary from Human Resources was actually joining him. Jacobs had brought his fucking _cat_ to the party, and was now dancing with the loudly meowing cat, who looked as miserable as Percival felt. Sure, the banner with badly written handwriting said it was Percival Graves’ Birthday Party, but it felt more like a party for people who didn’t get out enough. Which was true, when one considered the almost non-existent free time the Aurors had, outside of weekends and personal day offs. The man groaned and leaned his head against the table; he just wanted to go home and have a good snuggle, was it too much to ask for?

Someone had started dancing the fucking _can-can_ , and more people were joining in, which left Percival wondering if they made a mistake making these people wizarding America’s first line of defence. Right, that did it. He decided that if he had to stay and endure this train wreck of a party, he couldn’t be sober. Thankfully, there was a table with all sorts of alcohol and Percival poured a very generous amount of whiskey into a glass and threw the entire thing back, savouring the bitter bite of the alcohol as it rushed through his throat. He poured another glass and settled back into his chair, resigned to waiting for another hour until the cake would finally be served. Then he could go home, blissfully drunk and sadly alone, and cuddle with his blankets and bolsters and non-existent snuggle partner. Oh happy fucking birthday indeed.

He was pleasantly drunk after three glasses, or maybe it was five? Anyway, he was feeling quite parched and oooh look, someone left a flask of water on the table; Percival vaguely recalled seeing Abernathy leaving something on the table he’s sat at. Sober Percival would never ever had drunk some random flask of colourless liquid placed before him, even if someone swore it was water. Drunk Percival however, saw liquid with no colour and no suspicious odour, and immediately took it for water. He took a swig, found it to be rather cooling to his dry throat, and proceeded to drink half the flask.

It was an hour later when it was finally time for the cake, and it didn’t even bother him that much when everyone sung a horribly drunk rendition of Happy Birthday as a slightly wonky looking cake appeared before him. Seraphina, who along with Queenie, was the only few people who still made sense (although she too spoke with a barely noticeable slur), asked him what his heart’s desire was before blowing out the candles. Percival opened his mouth, intending to say something noble and selfless like “peace for the wizarding world”, or “Grindelwald’s downfall” or even “to serve the wizarding world for many more years to come”. What came out instead, was a gruff “I just want snuggles, is it too much to ask for?”

There was complete silence. The half of the room’s occupants who were drunk thought they were hallucinating, while the other half who knew they weren’t hallucinating, wondered if Percival had been impersonated again. Amongst this latter half was Percival himself, who slapped a hand across his mouth because _what the fucking shit was that_? Seraphina blinked slowly, cat-like, and when she spoke, it was in the most deliberate, clear tone that conveyed her disbelief at what Percival just said. “Mr Graves, _Percival._ Could I ask you to repeat what you’ve just said?” Eyes wide, he willed his mouth to say “Snuggles, who said anything about snuggles? I said I wanted a holiday.” But what came out was “I want fucking snuggles Sera, is that so hard to understand? _I. Want. Snuggles._ ”

Queenie was the first to break the silence that had once again fell over the entire room. With her bright eyes and bright smile and soft hands, she advanced towards Percival and gently smoothed his hair back, “Well why didn’t you say so honey?” Her arms were around Percival before he could protest, and she was such a nice, warm weight on and around him, that Percival deflated like a balloon and just leaned into her embrace. He hesitantly wounded his arms around her waist, and leaned his head onto her stomach, feeling her heartbeat soft beneath his ear and feeling so safe. She rubbed her hands over his neck and shoulders, and made little crooning sounds that had him purring comfortably as she giggled at how cat-like he seemed. No one interrupted them, and when Queenie finally stepped away, Percival’s hair was mussed and his eyes were glazed over but _oh_ that felt so lovely. And everyone just cooed because he looked so soft and cuddly and if they were sober, they wouldn’t have done what they did next, but well. They were drunk.

Someone slurred a loud “Snuggle pile!” and everyone surged forward to cuddle their befuddled Director. They were gentle and soft and considerate of Percival, there was a hand caressing his hair, someone with blessed hands was kneading his sore muscles, and for the next minutes, he was surrounded by warmth and soft coos and murmurs and he never felt more loved then. He knew his people cared for him, and that they felt guilty because no one ever realised he was being impersonated. Tomorrow, they’ll be divided once more by the line between superior and subordinates, but tonight, they’re offering him the comfort and warmth he so desperately wished for ever since he was captured and rescued. When the snuggle fest ended, there were no comments on the wetness on his cheeks, or how some people were furiously rubbing at red eyes. The cake is cut, and slices were handed out quietly to everyone. The largest slice ended up in Percival’s hands, and everyone watched as he tentatively took the first bite. The small smile that appeared on his lips after that seemed to placate everyone, and noise slowly filtered back into the room, something Percival was glad for because touched as he was by his people’s show of affection, it was starting to get uncomfortable with how everyone was staring at him.

Percival left at the stroke of midnight, and everyone called out drunken goodbyes as they began cleaning up. There was a spot of red on his cheek, from where Queenie kissed him and he made a note to see if he couldn’t get a better position for her; she really deserved better than making coffee for ungrateful men with large egos. Thankfully, he wasn’t too drunk to Apparate home, and the world spun for a minute longer, but he was home. Throwing on his bedclothes, he slipped into bed and sighed as his skin met the soft covers. There was a moment of blurred consciousness before he fell asleep, and he thought that the night wasn’t that bad at all, even if his left leg was somewhat sore. But he actually enjoyed himself, _and_ he got his cuddles. Just before he lost himself to slumber, he reminded himself to suspend Abernathy for leaving Veritaserum (even if it was watered down) about unattended _and_ for making him drink it. The last thing he felt was the comforting presence of his beloved bolster in his arms as he finally fell asleep with a smile on his face. He supposed it wasn’t a bad birthday after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Another day, another boring briefing. Percival doesn’t know why he has to sit in on this one anyway; Newt was speaking rapidly about enforcing laws for the protection and preservation of creatures, and Percival can’t for the life of him understand why he, as the Director of Magical Security, has to suffer through it. It’s not as if he dislikes listening to Newt speak; on the contrary, the magizoologist has one of the most soothing voices he’s ever heard, not that he’d admit it to anyone. He’d also never admit how _good_ Newt’s ass looks in this pair of pants, or how he wants to see if Newt’s face is the only part of his body is freckled, or how he _really, really_ wants to snuggle Newt because Percival is tired and bored and his leg hurts and Newt looks _really_ snuggleable.

“…wouldn’t you agree, Mr Graves?”

Said man starts and turns to meet Newt’s green eyes, “I beg your pardon?”

Newt’s freckles seem to reflect his confusion, because in the short time he’s known Mr Graves, the man has never been anything than alert. He repeats the question, something about how magical creatures can be used in therapy for shell-shocked wizards suffering from the trauma of the war. Percival mumbles his agreement, even though he wonders how the fuck would a Nundu help wizards and witches with PTSD. By eating them? He doesn’t voice his thoughts though, but Newt looks pleased he’s not argued with him, and Percival smiles at him in return because the thought of Newt being happy because of him sends a flutter through his body, even though he very much detests acting like some fool in love.

The meeting drags on, and Percival is exhausted and thirsty and he stands suddenly, because he needs to take a breather before he loses his mind. His limp is more pronounced because of how long he’s been sitting and he’s leaning more heavily on his cane as he walks out of the conference room. Newt, concerned at how pale he seems, moves over to open the door for him, and Percival thinks he can see flecks of brown and blue in Newt’s green orbs as he passes him by. When he returns, slightly less irritated than before, someone has prepared a glass of water for him, and he gratefully downs the entire glass in one go. He motions for Newt to continue his briefing, not noticing that some of the younger employees are stifling laughter behind their hands.

Their laughter grows louder as Newt’s explaining how MACUSA can help in setting an example to the rest of the wizarding world in the preservation of magical creatures, and Percival feels a headache beginning to form. He raises a hand to stop Newt and turns to glare at the giggling buffoons who immediately turn pale and shut up. Rolling his eyes, he motions for Newt to continue, only for the red-head to be interrupted once more by the same group of wizards. This time, Percival addresses them directly in a dangerous, silky tone. “Is there anything you would like to share, gentlemen?” They shake their head mutely, and Percival’s brow twitches in annoyance when _still_ another giggle manages to escape from one of them. “You seem like you have something you need to get off your chest, Cranston, why don’t you share it with everyone?”

Cranston, a young wizard fresh out of Ilvermorny and with a hint of baby fat still, gulps but his two friends nudge him. He takes a deep breath and asks Percival, “Mr uh, Mr Graves, what is, what is the thing you want the most right now?” It’s such a ridiculous question, and Percival can’t believe the nerve of the boy to interrupt this briefing, which is already far too long, for something as inconsequential as asking him what _he_ wants. Percival is ready to rip him a new one, and Cranston braces for the outburst, when instead, the Auror says, “I want snuggles, preferably with Mr Scamander, but none of you are making it particularly possible!”

You could really hear a pin drop in the room. Everyone, including Percival himself and Newt, are stunned at what just came out of Percival’s mouth because he did _not_ just admit that in front of his subordinates. Percival feels a volcano threatening to erupt from within him, and breathing in deeply, asks in a deceptively calm voice, “ _What. Did. You. Do. Cranston._ ” And Cranston stutters out unintelligible excuses but the dark haired man manages to catch something about Veritaserum, and the volcano explodes. He bangs his fists against the table, and everyone jumps. _“You drugged me with Veritaserum?_ ”

Cranston and his friends are terrified, but they foolishly try to explain that it was just watered down Veritaserum and that the effects only lasts for about half an hour, but Percival is _furious_ because not only did they somehow get their hands on a restricted potion, they managed to drug him and humiliate him. Percival snaps his fingers, and the two Aurors in the room stand to take hold of the trio, and their knees are shaking because they know they fucked up. Everyone is waiting for Percival to punish them, but he only orders the Aurors to send them to Madame Picquery, with explicit instructions that they are to be suspended and placed under probation for three months, and that their families are to be contacted. The three boys, for they were no more than 25 really, are shame faced as they are herded out of the room and Percival is so angry he can feel his blood boiling. No one says a word because they’ve rarely seen him so angry, and no one wants to be the next one in trouble.

There’s a gentle cough and everyone turns to look at an awkward Newt, who scratches the back of his head and asks, in a voice so soft Percival has to strain to hear him, “Er, am I, _can_ I continue with the proposal? We’ve still two pages to go.” Percival stares at him incredulously because _really? I’ve just admitted that I want to cuddle you and that’s your reaction_? But he says none of those, his mouth a tight line as he gestures for Newt to continue because really, he’s afraid of what he might say under the influence of Veritaserum, regardless of whether it’s watered down or not. The rest of the briefing passes by uneventfully, although everyone scurries out of the room when it’s over, not daring to meet Percival’s eye because they don’t know how they might react to his admission, or to the fact that he was drugged by his subordinates.

Percival and Newt are the only people left in the room when it’s done, and the former has no idea what to say to the latter. He clears his throat and makes to leave the room, a little disappointed that he’ll not get the snuggles he so desperately, and before his admission, secretly desires, when Newt’s hand on his shoulder stops him. He’s surprised when he turns to face the taller man, and there’s a blush on Newt’s face as he mumbles something incoherent. Percival blinks and leans in closer, “Pardon me?” Newt bites his lips (Percival thinks they’re very much kissable) and repeats his words louder. “There’s a tree near Dougal’s nest that provides some lovely shade, and I was- I was wondering if you might be um, interested in ah, spending some time there?”

Percival stares at him, dumbfounded because who would want to spend time under a -. Oh. _Oh._ He thinks he understands, that Newt is trying to extend an invitation to spend some time together, and he nods so eagerly he might have strained his neck, but it’s worth it when Newt gifts him with a smile so bright it could light up the entire room. Newt reaches out to take his hand, and as he leads Percival down into his suitcase, the man is amazed at how much illegal magic Newt has been casting, and how no one’s ever managed to arrest him is a miracle. When they reach the open enclosure that holds the nests of several of Newt’s creatures, including Dougal the demiguise, Percival can’t help but release a reverent breath because everything is just so beautiful. Even though Newt explains to him that the surroundings are artificial, the sun feels so warm on his hands, and the wind is whistling cheerfully in his ear, and Percival finds a sense of belongingness he’s lost ever since he was captured by Grindelwald.

They reach the supposedly lovely tree Newt mentioned, and Percival has to admit, it really _is_ a nice looking tree. Although, it could be because Newt’s sitting on the ground, back against the tree with his hand held out invitingly. There’s no hesitation as Percival takes his hand and he’s surprised by the lanky man’s strength when he’s pulled into his arms. Newt smiles bashfully down at him, and Percival is somewhat horrified to realise that he’s blushing. He, the almighty Director of Magical Security, second only to Seraphina Picuqery, is blushing because a (very handsome and attractive) man is holding him. They stare at each other for a moment before Newt speaks, eyes blinking owlishly, “I uh, I don’t suppose you’d like to snuggle? I mean, only because well, you said earlier that you wanted to snuggle, but of course you were drugged and I uh, it’s fine if you don’t-” Percival rolls his eyes and tugs Newt closer, the sun and the warmth of his body lulling him into a hazy state of fatigue, “Scamander, when will you ever learn to shut up?” Neither of them speak after that, and Percival thinks that this, being here and snuggled up against a very comfortable Newt, is the best place to be. Maybe he’ll let Cranston off a little; after all, it’s thanks to him he got his snuggles.


End file.
